Category Archives: Poetry

Eggs Won’t Rot and Sperm Won’t Spoil spoken word video

your food doesn’t rot
your sperm doesn’t die
your eggs don’t spoil
your breasts won’t sag
your 85 year old medicated penis acts 21
and your smile never turns to sad
everything is not alright

always new beginnings
Everything always ending
this is the way
life’s supposed to
be

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A Poem for my Mom Who’s Son still Pee’s in his Bed

Sometimes my thoughts
embarrass her
like a little kid who still
pee’s in his bed at age 12.
Whose sleep and dreams
are too peaceful
to be tossed away for protocol.

I’m an adult.
I still piss on myself
but in my head.

My mind mentally pisses
a stream of thought
after thought
after thought
into the toilet ears
of normality.

I would rather piss
on myself
and lie
in a urine soaked bed
of imagination
than be disturbed
by the dictates
of social norms.

My mom
however
always blushes
and with her apology worded wash cloth
cleans up my mental mess.

Ones and Zeros and the Lack of You

Veronica in the email you wrote about your anger
and our dysfunction.
The one’s and zero’s filtered through your computer,
others’ computers, and finally my computer
does not express who we are.
Printing your e-mail I see
what you learned in grade school.
What you forgot, Microsoft Word fills in the rest.
Our lives took on more than symbolism.

Please write me a letter.
I want to see how stable
your pen is in perfectly shaped sentences.
Then watch the words take on your madness
with each crossed out thought
and sloppy caricature.
Remember last winter when you went to get
the mail and the kids, Bob and Bev, locked the house door.
At first you tried knocking politely then smashed
the window pane to let yourself in.

I want to see your fingerprints’
images smudged in black ink.
Do you recall holding hands in bed
while reading?
The comfortable silence between the two of us.
Not always having to
entertain with sex, booze, or conversation.
Only needing two books and touch to sustain
love.

I want to smell and see where you are.
Take me to Denny’s with the odor of cigarette smoke
and coffee stained saturated paper.
Do you remember eating mozzarella cheese sticks
at 2:30AM after dancing?

I want to find the short black curly hair
that shows up in the oddest places.
To recall one last time the night in
Salt Lake City where we impregnated our
dreams into our heads and bodies that eventually
blossomed into who we were—man and wife.
If nothing else, a piece of DNA to show my friends
“this is you.”

I want to see a tear stain
where love use to be.

I want to hold as much of you
as I can one last time.

Promise me our relationship
was more to you
then ones and zeros.

My Armpits Smell like a Car Air Freshner

Part 1

The California draught has NOT been exacerbated by the few gardeners
who use potable water
to feed their spinach and arugula pizza toppings.

It’s people like me
the bank teller
data entry person
receptionist
accountant
telemarketer
IT
loan officer

who everyday
remove the chemical coat
of makeup, deodorants, and after shaves
with a long long long shower.

I rub myself down with,
“Avon so soft & sensual creamy body wash.”

All over my face I squirt,
“Yes to Cucumbers Gentle Milk Facial Cleanser.”

Then massage into my hair,
“Big Sexy Hair Marylin Monroe Limited Edition Volumizing Dry Shampoo.”

PART 2

During my 9 to 5 work week.  I sit in a chemically doused office.
My body never touches a sprinkle of grime or a pinch of dirt.

MY fingers never type so fast
to make my armpits give off a foul odor.

MY legs never so ardously
stand still behind a desk
to where my crotch becomes stinky.

MY eyes never laborously flicker
at such a rate in front of the monitor
that it makes my forehead perspire.

Corporate cubicle culture expects the worker b’s to smell like Target.
Middle management must smell like Macy’s.

I appreciate that Cambria has chosen to sacrifice the vegetable garden for those of us who need are bodies to smell like a recently deodorized hotel room
or detailed automobile.

These are my thoughts,

Veronica Wonderful

Image

Hair Poem part 4

Brandon Follett Hair Poem

The Temple and Blood of God doesn’t Taste like Mouthwash but a Day of Surfing

The woman with the soft angelic face
lies next to me
in the sun warmed sand.
The breezy salt air
plays with her blonde wavy hair.
I run my fingers up an down
her out stretched arm.
I tell her she’s beautiful.
She sweetly smiles
and says,
The temple of God is the body.

I wonder what the walls
of God’s temple taste like?
I kiss her.
I discover the flavors
of todays pinnic dinner:
avocado, onion, garlic, and black bean.
Flavors from the earth
that I adore.
Flavors not found in
the artificial world of
over the counter
toothpaste, gum, or mouthwash.

The full moon slowly rises
from the east.
The sun begins to set
in the west.
The tide does
it’s mysterious change.
We grab our surfboards.

Whale spouts
go off like fireworks
on the horizon.
We float beyond the brake.
A harbor seal
pops its head above the water line.
A dolphin fin
glides through the waves.

I lean towards her.
I taste salt water
mixed with saliva.
She tells me
I’m kissing
the blood of God.
I taste the same water
on the lips of
whales, seals, dolphins, and all sea life.

She stops speaking mid sentence.
Catches a wave.
Rides it as graceful
as a dolphin.

Waiting for the Rain

Our cars have so much fun
when they play in the drinking water
getting baths
that make them look shiny

Your car looks
better than you
and we’re all going thirsty
as we wait for the rain

Naturally Ridiculous but Humanly TRUE

Lovro67

I don’t like the sound of birds singing over head
I like sky scrapers that block out the sun
I don’t like green belts and smiling families

I don’t like art that looks hand made
I like music that’s sexy and young
I don’t like happiness when it’s free

I don’t like meat that looks like animals
I like fruit that comes in an easy to open can
I don’t like Saturday markets that take up parking

I don’t like rivers that possibly will flood my house
I like nature locked up in a cage
I don’t like trees that make me sneeze and blow my nose

Eggs Won’t Spoil and Sperm Won’t Rot Abridged

creepy baby

your food doesn’t rot
your sperm doesn’t die
your eggs don’t spoil
your breasts won’t sag
your 85 year old medicated penis acts 21
and your smile never turns to sad
everything is not alright

always new beginnings
Everything always ending
this is the way
life’s supposed to
be

Brandon Follett performs at the Poetry Church in San Luis Obispo

Thank You Dennis!!!!!!poetry church san luis obispo

featuring the music of:C.j. Boyd(road, USA)
http://cjboyd.bandcamp.com/album/aerial-roots!Mindparade(Bloomington, IN)
http://mindparade.bandcamp.com/album/everything-is-happeningSamaniega(Bloomington, IN)
http://jenniferburch.bandcamp.com/album/victoria-epU.s. Ghostal service(San Luis Obispo, CA)
https://densraypowelljunyor.bandcamp.com/album/the-everything-hat

featuring the spoken word/poetry of:

Leslie St. John(San Luis Obispo, CA)
http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/lstjohn/2012/05/art-school-model/
http://linebreak.org/poems/climbing-the-air/

Linda Camplese(Nipomo, CA)

Brandon FollettCambria, CA)
https://earthwormenvy.wordpress.com/

John Reid(Atascadero, CA)

please do bring a few bucks to support and honor the traveling musicians/poets.

once upon a time, C.j. Boyd passed through San Luis Obispo. C.j. was a magical road-warrior wizard of sound. Poetry Church Ministries heard about this and along with Anahata LovelyDay KiaWind brainstormed and realized that they should have a Poetry Church at Smiling Dog Yoga. It was then realized that the good friend and co-founder of U.S. Ghostal Service (also performing), Prince Thomas(performing as !Mindparade) was passing through California at the very same time as all of this so everything began to fall into a lovely place. Prince Thomas(aka Alex Arnold) was traveling with his partner and fellow performer Jennifer Samaniego Burch who also was quickly slated to perform at the church. Poetry Church then realized that the musical ingredients for the Poetry Church were in abundance and yet the POETRY itself(in its natural, silence-surfing form) was lacking so a fervent petition was made to the preternaturally silver-tongued Leslie St.John to share her poetry with the fellowship. Then the poetic services of one John Reid, a mad max of duneite poetry, were requested, as well as the disheveled hilarity of the poetry of Brandon Follett. Following a breakthrough poetry performance at the Wise Owl in Cambria, CA, the final ingredient of one Monalisa Maione(aka the one and only dynamo Linda Camplese) was added to the poetry church brew and then the potion cooked and cooked. C.J. Boyd was somewhere out there, rambling the coast hither and thither, bass lines in his eyes. Poetry Church quivered in anticipation and a hundred thousand kundalini snakes set their modes to rattle.

p.s. please come in a yummy kind of mood and attire for there will be much opportunity to dance, stretch and play in a ceremony such as this. bring a donation to support the traveling performers if you can. all are welcome, regardless. : )